


Tantalus

by Nice_Valkyrie



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nice_Valkyrie/pseuds/Nice_Valkyrie
Summary: Kimblee's company is an obligation, but Riza pursues temptation of her own accord.





	Tantalus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1stTimeCaller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stTimeCaller/gifts).



The apartment was well-furnished, well-lit—not what Riza Hawkeye would have expected, because its owner’s release had been so recent. After the chill outside, what she hoped was the last biting gasp of winter, the kitchen’s warmth and the prospect of tea might have been welcome…if she hadn’t had to take it in such company.

“I remember this berry flavor is horrifically sweet, but I found myself with a craving. We shall see if it’s an overindulgence.”

Prison, Riza supposed, was responsible for the curious sunken aspect of Solf J. Kimblee’s cheeks and the way his white suit hung rather more loosely than considered fashionable as he waited for the kettle to boil. But the years since she had last seen him now felt like nothing at all. There was no tarnish on her memories of his bizarre smile, the roughness of his voice, the sense of menace that had always accompanied him like perfume, fleeting and yet unmistakable.

“I suppose I should congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you,” said Riza.

“Is the Fuhrer keeping you very busy?”

“Not quite.” It was too late to regret that now, of course.

“How fortunate for you.” Kimblee’s voice had an edge of barely-concealed mirth as he poured two cups. “And for me, that I have the pleasure of your company.”

He took the seat beside her rather than one across, well within reach over the corner of the table. She could sense the proximity of his knee, and she moved hers away, only to bump against his other leg: he had her trapped.

“He seems pleased with your performance so far. I can’t say I’m surprised. I seem to recall you had a fondness for following orders.”

A paltry insult, if indeed it was meant that way. “Well, I wouldn’t be much of an adjutant if that wasn’t true.”

Kimblee’s lips twitched. “Why don’t you try it?” he said softly, nodding at her cup.

The tea was indeed far too sweet. When Riza glanced up over the rim, Kimblee’s gaze was trained on her, his expression a little too pleased.

She set the cup down slowly. He was no longer a major, and she was no longer a lowly cadet, and yet her obedience had been quick and unquestioning. What did his loss of rank matter now if she was still subservient to him? Her face felt warm.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t have it again,” she said.

Kimblee lifted his own cup, but made a face as he inhaled. “Oh, that scent is as strong as I remembered.” His gaze flicked briefly to her lips as he set the tea down. “I don’t think I’m prepared to drink it quite yet.”

He considered her, putting his elbow up on the table and resting his chin in his hand. There was no animosity in his gaze, merely cold, scientific consideration.

Riza lifted her chin, just slightly, and looked back. This was a matter of endurance, and nothing more. The only question was how long the torment would last this time. Under the table, her knee swayed back and forth between his.

Finally, he said, “Tell me why you agreed to join me this evening.”

“Surely you don’t think this was my decision,” said Riza. When Kimblee had appeared in Central Command, she had first wondered if she had done something to annoy Bradley. Though the Fuhrer hadn’t _ordered_ her to keep Kimblee’s company, it had been clear enough that she had little choice in the matter.

“Why not? You could have made your excuses as soon as we were outside.”

Riza thought of red-violet eyes and the gaping unknown of every dark night. “Is that what you wanted?”

“An ambiguous question…and rather forward for it.”

Swiftly, his hand came up and alighted on hers.

“No,” he said. “It’s not what I want.”

When she didn’t resist, the delicate touch settled into something firmer. His palm was soft and warm. Was she imagining that the tattooed alchemy was hotter than the rest? Riza suppressed a shudder.

He had played these games before, too—a hand on the small of her back, an uncomfortable meal with thigh pressed against thigh at the crowded camp mess table—nothing improper, but nothing incidental, either. Toying with her. Back then, of course, he’d had the protection afforded by rank. There had been no rebuff both permissible and effective; if she had moved away, he would have snatched her again;

And there had been no strategy in orchestrating this obligation, nothing for Bradley to gain. She saw now that it was simply the return of those older sins. The shared evening might have been a mission under the yellow light of the desert sun, so deftly had they been yanked back into their roles.

Riza felt a sudden pang of regret that she had never taken the chance to see him brought low by incarceration.

“It’s an interesting exchange, isn’t it?” Kimblee murmured, as if catching the thread of her thoughts. “My freedom and your imprisonment?”

Riza looked coolly at where they were joined. “I’m a hostage, not a prisoner.”

“If I didn’t know better, Miss Sniper”—a little shiver of recognition slithered up Riza’s spine—“I would think you were deliberately misunderstanding my point. You don’t need to be wearing shackles to be bound…”

He slid his hand up, curling his fingers around her wrist.

“…although, if that’s something you’re interested in, it can be arranged.”

Kimblee’s sleeve had shifted back with the motion, revealing a mark like a wine-stain bracelet.

“From the hand-stocks,” he said. He had noticed her looking. “I believe they’re going to heal fully. They’re already beginning to fade.” His voice was almost wistful.

“If you’re missing your cell, I’m sure we can arrange for your return,” said Riza.

Kimblee snorted. “Hardly. By far the most exciting thing that happened during my imprisonment was the destruction of the Fifth Laboratory.”

Riza frowned. “That was only a few months ago.”

“Yes, so perhaps you can imagine how unbearable the first five years in that cell were.” He was still holding her. “It was…infuriating to feel an explosion of that magnitude so close and not be responsible for it. I’ve rarely been so frustrated.”

“My sympathies.”

“Your sentence is far less demoralizing, I’m sure.”

Yes, it was so familiar, his crooked little smirk. He thought he understood everything about her. A woman, and a loyal military dog. A simple soldier with a need to be directed and a refusal to flinch that had congealed into paralysis.

Riza turned her hand in his loose grip until she could grab him in turn. It was easy enough; he had bony wrists. He watched with a slight frown as she pressed against the marked skin, which felt only a little rougher than the rest.

“Do they hurt?”

Kimblee’s thumb found her pulse. “Less now than before.”

Riza scratched with one finger, just lightly. His frown deepened.

“That’s enough,” he told her. “Unless you intend to finish what you’ve started, I’ll thank you not to aggravate the scarring.”

Riza dug her nail in.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, his eyes lidding slightly, “that’s quite painful.”

“You should still be locked up,” she said. “At the very least.”

Kimblee’s eyebrows lifted at her tone. “You would make me a prisoner again, is that it?”

Riza said nothing. Kimblee smiled, and he tugged his hand from her grasp as he stood and stalked into the next room.

In the kitchen’s sudden silence, Riza thought of fleeing. But she hadn’t slept well in weeks; she had been threatened by shadows creeping through the cold night air, had watched the Fuhrer smile in her face and tell her he was a monster, too. The impulse lasted only a few seconds before she was able to swallow it.

When Kimblee returned, it was with a set of wooden hand-stocks, holes spaced wide enough to prevent a captive’s palms from touching.

“You kept them?” said Riza.

Kimblee laughed. “That’s a touching thought. No, I occupied myself making them one night. Call it a personal project.”

Riza hefted the stocks. They were heavier than she had guessed, and the wood seemed to tingle under her fingertips. The insides of the hand-holes, once she found and released the locking mechanism, were smooth, as if already well-worn. She was almost tempted to fit her own wrist into the space…

Kimblee’s hand gripped the top of the board, pushing it down into her lap. For a moment, Riza was transfixed by his stare.

Then he leaned slowly toward her. Riza bit her tongue and forced herself to keep still, keep still, keep still.

He stopped just before their mouths met, hovering so close she could see the depths of blue in his eyes. “You would let me?” he said. “Really?”

He tapped his finger against her pulse. “What if I kissed you here?”

The finger trailed softly down her neck. “Lower?”

He was corporeal, at least, with breath and warmth in his body. Riza could feel that for a certainty. Kimblee examined her for a moment more before he darted to the side, pressing his cheek against hers and inhaling deeply.

“Not backing down,” he murmured approvingly in her ear. “Few things are more becoming on a woman than a sense of conviction.”

_Can you really tell me…you don’t feel the slightest tinge of satisfaction…?_

The skin of his face was hot against the line still faintly visible on her cheek, which she could feel as though it was freshly opened. On her throat, his fingers burned.

Riza pushed the stocks against him.

“Put them on,” she said.

She felt him smile broadly. He trailed his lips across her cheek as he pulled back, though he didn’t chance a kiss. Carefully, deliberately slow, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them to his elbows. His forearms were wiry, dotted with small dark moles, and his wrists fit perfectly into the stocks.

Riza snapped them closed. Kimblee took a deep, satisfied breath, testing the limits of his restraint.

“Well then, Miss Sniper,” he said quietly, “what are you going to do with me?”

Again, Riza considered leaving—but only for the space of a thought, and then, as if in a dream, she watched her hands advance, reaching around his head to loose his ponytail. His breath was hot on her neck and the air was thick with the sweetness of the abandoned tea. She smoothed the hair over his shoulders, where it hung like seeking tendrils of shadow. “Is that what it was like?”

“Not quite.”

His plum tie was silky, but soon enough she had the knot undone, and the fabric slipped free.

“That’s closer.”

The buttons on his waistcoat were white, too, and smooth to the touch as she opened them.

“Closer.”

His body was thin and pale, with sparse dark hair on his stomach, and he shivered once the skin was exposed.

“Very close,” he murmured.

Riza nodded to herself and stood.

In the bedroom, Riza stripped unceremoniously, though she couldn’t control the shaking of her legs. It shouldn’t have felt like this. It was the same thrill as teetering on the edge of a precipice, the jumble of fear and anticipation from having his eyes on her that set her nerves to racing. The thrill deepened as she climbed on the bed.

Kimblee crawled up clumsily, settling back on his knees, and Riza put her ankles to either side of his, presenting herself like a banquet spread. His gaze fixed between her legs. “Ah, I see. A little performance.”

Riza closed her eyes. She didn’t like the idea of that vulnerability, but it would be easier to get started if she didn’t have to look at him. The air, when she parted her wet lips, was a sudden chill kiss. Her finger dipped in, just enough to be felt, and circled. A tease.

“Move your arm out of the way.”

Riza ignored him, twisting her wrist to the side and letting her finger glide back up to her clit. There was no reason to make it a show; he was already plenty captivated. She would touch herself just as she would alone, light at first and then faster as need demanded. Her finger swept back and forth, soft, dragging just slightly, and Riza let out a little contented sigh.

“Good.”

She didn’t like him telling her what to do, either, but the hitch in his voice stopped her from protesting. When he lifted his arms to readjust his position, Riza saw how the fabric of his trousers was strained over his hard cock.

“Louder.”

Riza let more of her voice creep in to her next sigh, wondering if Kimblee could stimulate himself, if his need was great enough. He didn’t seem to be that desperate yet, though his wrists were twisting a bit in their stocks as he watched her.

“Do they hurt?” said Riza.

His grin was wolfish. “Would you like to feel for yourself?”

Riza pressed her foot against the center of the board so he couldn’t move forward. He stroked her ankle, then gripped it tight as she called his attention back up. She circled herself again, slowly, and then all it took was a small curve of her wrist and the finger was sliding in sweetly. Her flesh was hot and Kimblee’s hand was hotter, but his eyes were burning most of all. She looked deliberately between them and his cock, so he couldn’t mistake what she was thinking as the finger disappeared and reappeared.

“What would you do if your hands were free?” she said.

“I’m certain our thoughts match at the moment.” His nostrils flared. “Though I assure you I wouldn’t be quite so gentle.”

When Riza pulled her finger out, a strand of wet like a dewy web came with it. Kimblee licked his lips. “There’s an old myth that comes to mind,” he said, “a man who—”

Riza pushed two fingers in. Now the wetness was noisy, and Kimblee closed his eyes.

“A man who sacrificed his son to curry divine favor, and was punished for it…”

Riza’s fingers sped up.

“His sentence was to stand—in a pool of sweet water beside a—a bank of trees heavy with fruit…”

He hunched forward, and she could see his teeth as he inhaled her scent.

“But whenever he sought either desire, they retreated out of reach.”

“I know the story,” Riza gasped.

“Proximity is what whips longing into something unbearable.” Kimblee was breathing fast and hard. “So often we think of pain in simple terms—physical damage, emotional distress—but desire can be pain, too, if unrequited. If provoked.”

Riza sat up and slid her fingers out. Kimblee watched their motion, lifting his hands as she brought herself to his chest. Up close, he smelled of sweat and faint berry sweetness. Riza traced the outline of his cock as she unzipped his trousers, but she didn’t free him, only palmed him through the thin fabric of his underpants. When she pressed, there was a hard twitch. Kimblee shuddered. His voice was tight: “Take them off.”

Riza compared her fingers against his shaft. Two fingers was nearly as wide, three a bit too large, but she chose three anyway, pulling off with a slight downward stroke that made Kimblee hiss through his teeth. He clenched his fists as she slid the fingers inside herself.

It was too much, even wet as she was, a stretch that made her moan as she bit down on her lip. Kimblee growled in his throat. “Let me do it.”

“You don’t have the range of motion.”

“I don’t need my hands to get you off,” he said. “Ask me to use my mouth. If you’re nice about it, I won’t bite.”

His voice was flinty; because he was used to giving orders, or because he refused to beg? “I don’t want your help,” Riza gasped, bracing herself with a hand on his shoulder.

The wooden board bumped against her back as he brought his hands down and trapped her in the ring of his arms. That brought her tight against him, and as she fucked herself on her fingers her arm rubbed his chest **.** Kimblee groaned, and Riza felt him struggle against the hand-stocks again—and then there was a deeper sound, a snarl, as he realized his mistake. “Let me out—”

She was sticky with sweat, slinging her arm around his shoulders as she worked her fingers faster. His arms pressed tighter against her shoulders, like the coils of a snake squeezing her breathless, trying and trying to touch her in vain. His hips bucked and his cock pressed hard against the inside of her thigh and Riza spiraled up and up in his embrace until, with a curse and hard curl of her fingers, she came.

It cleared all too quickly, leaving not incoherence but a disappointing serenity. The idea of trying for another was tempting; but she let go of the possibility as Kimblee began squirming against her again, still hard and needy. “Let me out.”

Riza untangled herself from him. Kimblee offered his hands, which she ignored in favor of pushing her damp hair off the back of her neck and wiping her fingers on her thigh. The fear had swarmed up again. If she unshackled him, would he break—fall upon her and seek an end to his temptation?

But there had been no edge in his voice as he made what was a request, not a demand. Riza steeled herself, went to him, and tugged the lock open. The hand-stocks fell heavily on the bed, and Kimblee sighed and stretched as Riza turned away to gather up her clothes.

Kimblee seized her shoulder and yanked her back. Off-balance, Riza stumbled on her knees, and he grabbed her head.

“That’s all?” he said hoarsely. “Hm?” His fingers were hard and careless as he felt her cheeks and jaw.

Riza’s heart beat thunderously, the blood rushing in her ears. “Yes.”

“Intending to leave me wanting,” he murmured. “I’m obligated to practice restraint.”

He worked the corner of her mouth open with his thumb, gently, and slid its tip between her lips.

“You’re not succeeding,” she managed falteringly.

Kimblee barked a laugh. “If you think I’m not controlling myself, Miss Sniper—”

He released her forcefully, almost pushing her away.

“—you are terribly mistaken.”

Riza kept her eyes on him as she yanked her clothes on, trembling in earnest this time. Kimblee stared at the wet tip of his thumb with a pained little smile on his face.

“Won’t you stay and finish your tea?” he said without looking up.

“No.”

Kimblee sighed and closed his eyes. “I suppose I can’t resent that choice,” he said, lowering his hand. “The aroma alone was nearly too much for me to bear.”

 


End file.
